


Soft silver hair - Hojo

by goddamnitaisha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sephiroth wakes up in the lab and finds that Hojo is stroking his hair. In this story, the sterility of the environment is juxtaposed with the gentleness of the physical contact. And it’s only when Sephiroth is tied down, subdued, vulnerable, that the touch is tolerated. And it’s in that same combination of circumstances that Hojo would allow himself to touch - in the same way he’d vaguely soothe some other poor, dumb specimen, just the same way- Or, at least, that’s what he would be comfortable with telling himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft silver hair - Hojo

The narcotics were wearing off. The cold surface below Sephiroth held him in place like a magnet. He couldn’t lift his limbs. The surface of the table, bed, grounded him to the world. There were chains around his ankles, knees, arms, and elbows. A strap was over his chest, and another over his throat. They were made of metal, but coated with fabric so they would not feel hostile. He knew he tended to curl up on his side when he fell asleep these restrains prevented him from doing so. Others might think of it as cruel, or scary, but to Sephiroth was a practical solution, one he hardly noticed when he was asleep. Only when he woke up, he would feel stiff. 

A heavy weight pressed against against his forehead. It felt like a headache, then it slipped away to the back of his head. 

Sephiroth breathed in, like a dead man returning to life. His formerly still chest rose, and it pressed against the restraint. 

He exhaled.

He took another breath, and his eyelids cracked apart to splits - from behind them shone the faint glowing green of Sephiroth’s eyes.

They operation room’ lights were off. They jumped on and off automatically based on motion sensors - and no one had moved in the room for a while. The door to the corridor was opened perhaps a foot, and only light that entered the room formed long square over the floor, and over Sephiroth’s legs, and the wall behind them. 

Stars surrounded him in colours of green, red, white, and blue. The machines on wheels were pressed against the walls, their buttons and lights winked at him. Everything was familiar.

The headache started at the front, above his eyes, and slipped to the back of his head. He had registered the feeling at least a hundred times before. 

Sephiroth breathed in again. Everything in the room was familiar, including the person seated on the chair next to him. 

The Director of the Science Department put his warm hand at Sephiroth’s forehead, and he caressed over the silver strands, brushing them back. 

 _Maybe my hair gained this shape because of the constant_  stroking, the experiment thought to himself. He smiled faintly, sleepily. 

He stretched his legs until the toes pointed forward, his fingers fanned out, all his muscles grew hard. Raw and foreign power raced through his lazy body. His four limbs felt warm from the mako injections, but not as warm as the doctor’s gentle hand. 

Sephiroth sighed out. 

The hand moved over his head again. Sephiroth did not notice it any more than the blinking machine lights or the hum of the air-conditioning.

"…I am awake. You can untie me now."


End file.
